Snuff
I just finished Chuck Palahniuk’s latest, Snuff. I’m not quite certain how I feel about it. While reading it, it wasn’t my favorite of his works, yet the last four chapters kind of won me over. Snuff is the story of Cassie Wright and her attempt to break the world’s record for the most sex partners in a single work of pornography, 600 to be exact. The story is told from the perspective of three fellows waiting in line for a go at Cassie and the “talent wrangler,” the woman in charge of the 600 fellow gang-bang.
My first problem was that I just find the sex industry astonishingly depressing, and not in a fun Dawn of the Dead sort of way. Secondly, I couldn’t really like or relate to any of the characters. I suppose it’s a good thing that I have nothing in common with a bunch of porn fiends, but what I usually love about Palahniuk is that I do tend to identify with or feel empathy toward his characters. That said, it’s a short book and the last four chapters are amazing, so I have no regrets.
Continuing with Palahniuk, I’m now reading Choke. I’ve also got an audio book on deck, Orson Scott Card’s Speaker for the Dead.
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Debate on the Internets
Apparently, my St. Times article and my This American Life episode have caused much debate on the Internets. Much of the confusion comes from the Times photo. Basically, to some people I look like some kind of robot or some really fucked up plastic doll. The second topic is whether or not Sara and I can actually have sex. So, let’s clarify both.
First, I’m neither a Cylon nor a doll. Hilariously, the photo is one of the better photos taken of me. Honestly, I do look much better in person. I’m totally aware that I don’t look like a “normal” fellow at all, but I still don’t get the whole “fake doll” thing. I get it a lot more since I got the tube in my throat. My favorite is, “holy shit, that thing’s real???” I hear that often enough around town. I mean, sure, I’m pretty still and quiet, but why in the fuck would someone push a dummy around a bar in a flat wheelchair and talk to it? If I saw me, my first thought would be “wow, genetics fucked that guy over” and not “holy shit, is that a robot?” Wait, wait… What if I am actually the fifth Cylon model? Could I have gone 27 years without knowing it? Okay, I’ve changed my mind about you robot/doll people. Pure. Genius.
As for sex, I’m a little old fashioned about getting into details, but this time I will. Sara and I do have sex, lots and lots of sex. I have more sex than my brother and his friends combined. Actual sex, not some kind of metaphorical pretend sex. We don’t just share longing glances and write each other erotic angst-filled poetry, we go all the way. It’s a little on the exotic side, but… I tell her where to touch her and she puts my hand there. We kiss, we touch, we do everything, sometimes twice. I can’t really describe the complete sensuality of our sex life without crossing a line that I don’t want to cross. I’ll just say that when we’re alone together, we don’t hold anything back. How’d we get to such a place? Well, I’m told by many that I’m rather charismatic. Also, the white noise made by my breathing machine puts women into some kind of trance.
So, to some it up: Michael Phillips, not a robot/doll, fucked over by genetics, has lots of sex.
